Asking Too Much
by Kore-Proserpina
Summary: AU, HGSS. 7th year. There are some orders that even a Death Eater would refuse. However, Severus Snape is not so lucky, and must face the roseate hell. Humour with eventual romance.
1. Prologue

A/N: At the prodding of my beta, Nalaniekiela, I've agreed to make this a full-fledged story, of histerical proportions. Enjoy.

p.s. Reviews make my day...week...and year. (A sad little thing, aren't I?)

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**Prologue**

I had to escape.

As soon as the meeting had ended, I left as fast as I could without seeming suspicious. Gods-be-damned, my name was on his list and I'd be a fool to stand there and let him ask that of me, even though I knew that I was doomed the moment he looked my way.

I Disapparated to my dilapidated hovel, Spinner's End, as I had no desire to meet up with _him_ or my other master any time soon. Revolting as this refuge is, no one would think to find me here. After all, who would think that I, the proud Potions Master of Slytherin, would live within such Muggle filth?

I rummaged through my well hidden stores, looking in vain for that bloody bottle of Calming Draught. _Dragon's blood_… it had gone rancid. I hastily began throwing together a new batch but my cursed hands were shaking too much to even measure out the ingredients properly.

Why did he ask this of me? Have I not done enough? Have I not been—to all appearances—loyal?

I slammed the now useless cauldron back onto its shelf and reached for my favourite panacea. Picking up a tumbler of questionable cleanliness, I hastily poured in a stiff shot of Ogden's Old and downed the brew. Hopefully, it would calm me enough to think rationally.

Why did he ask this of me? Have I not served faithfully for over a decade, committed subterfuge of every sort, committed atrocities of every nature? Yet it wasn't enough for the slippery bastard.

What more could I possibly give to this futile conflict? Is my life not enough? No, he must have my sanity as well.

"_Argh!"_ I let out a scream of frustration that any banshee would have been proud of, and threw the empty tumbler against the hearth. The glass shattered and the flames leapt up to hungrily consume the remaining drops of firewhiskey. My lips curled into a fierce sneer that was more akin to a snarl and I paced in circles, my feet wearing the already tattered carpet thinner.

My calloused fingers unbuttoned the top of my robes; the atmosphere was stifling in the best of times, even though the wind seeped through the house like fingers of ice. There was a rickety chair in front if the hearth; I winced at the horrid creak it made as I sat down to think. There had to be a way out of this horror.

How could he make me do such a thing? My iron nerves were in worse shape than that blasted tumbler; a Jobberknoll would die silently before I would even dream of committing such a crime.

I stood and turned irritably away from the hearth. This time he had gone too far, and by the Serpent, I would not go through with this travesty. He would see me turn to the other side, therefore losing his kicked-around unappreciated spy before I agreed to such madness.

My eyes grew wide when I saw a fatal green flash appear behind me, and I backed away like a caged beast. _He _was here. I had been found.

"Severus…"

"Goddamn it, Albus; I AM NOT WEARING PINK!"


	2. Dressing the Part

A/N: Please review!

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**Dressing the Part**

TWO HOURS EARLIER

Albus shuffled his notes, as we all sat either around the kitchen table, or—as in my own case—in the corner of the room, as close to the door as possible.

"Have you any news from Voldemort's camp, Severus?" Albus asked me.

Moody glared at me expectantly. I flinched at both the Dark Lord's name, and the question. News? Like what—that the Dark Lord has taken up bathing with a rubber ducky?

"Severus?"

I cleared my throat. "Ah—no, Albus." Something prickled at the corner of my mind, and because I clearly must be insane, I mentioned it. "There is something though… he has complained frequently about Pettigrew's competency at tea-making, though I wouldn't blame him."

The others around the kitchen table began to snicker. I had to agree with them; I found the entire thing ridiculous myself. Albus nodded at me, and I continued. "The Dark Lord mentioned that he was willing to do…" I paused with disgust, "well, 'anything for a good cuppa.'"

Tonks couldn't hold it in any longer. "Ha! Lord Thingy really said… said, 'a good cuppa?' That's unbelievable!"

Mundungus put in his own two Knuts worth. "Why don't he have you brew for him?"

"Yeah," Tonks continued "You'd think being a Potions Master would qualify you t.. to," she nearly hiccoughed with laughter, "make some tea!"

Ha. Ha. Ha. Aren't they all a bunch of comedians?

I stared at them with a look of contempt that I usually reserve for second-year Hufflepuffs. They promptly got the idea and shut it.

Albus cleared his throat to bring the meeting back to order. For some reason, he wasn't chuckling like the rest of us; that was always a sign he knew something we didn't. "Anything for some tea? We shall have to keep that in mind."

I was not comforted by the look in Albus' eye, mainly because said look usually preceded him asking me to do something unsavoury.

"Any other business? No? Then this meeting is adjourned." Albus stood from his chair. "And remember, as Alastor is fond of reminding us, 'Constant Vigilance!'"

"Don't you forget it!" Moody added gruffly.

With that, the Order meeting was _finally_ adjourned, and I would have been free to leave had it not been for Albus. As it was, I sat in my chair and waited patiently, but I could have done without a nosey one-eyed git staring me down.

Moody stopped in front of me. I sneered as he ran his damn magical eye over me.

Again.

I swear that one day I'm going to accidentally—ah, _slip_ anddrop that eye into a cauldron full of solvent. What does he expect? For me to be hiding the Dark Lord under my robes?

"Yes, Moody?" He fancied himself a Dark Wizard hunter, so I continually found him snooping about me, as if he were waiting for me to trip up. I couldn't wait to see what he wanted this time.

"I'm watching you, Snape," he growled.

I leaned back in my chair and casually balanced on the back legs. "Good to know. If you're watching me, I won't have to worry about loosing myself, will I?" I flashed an insincere half-smile and put all four chair legs back on the ground. It was quite amusing to see a vein throbbing in Alastor's head instead of mine for once. From the way his wand hand clenched, I could tell that he was desperate to hex me, but wouldn't do a thing with others around. However, that didn't stop him from reaching for his wand… and I guess that was my cue to leave.

I stood and headed over to where Albus was standing. "Albus?"

"Severus, I shall meet you in the drawing room, so the others can prepare dinner. Will you be staying this time?"

Staying? He must be going barmy. "I have never stayed for dinner, and I don't plan to start now."

Albus chuckled. "Suit yourself."

oOoOoOo

"You may have heard that Madam Puddifoot has recently taken ill," Albus stated as he looked at me intently. He had prevented me from taking the armchair closest to the door, which was strange, as that was my usual seat.

"Ah, no I haven't." Why should I care? I never go to that pink disaster she calls a tea shop. It came to me that this was a rather inane conversation to be having—what does Madam Puddifoot have to do with anything? She wasn't an Order member, as far as I could recall (and good riddance).

"Her nephew will be taking over her shop in the meantime."

I blinked, still confused as to what this had to do with anything. "Nephew?" I enquired. "I was unaware that other frilly copies of her polluted the earth."

Albus laughed like he knew something I didn't—the twinkle gave it away—and answered, "Yes, and his name is Gerard Puddifoot."

Woo, more useless information. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Headmaster, what does this—_any of this_—have to do with me?"

He cleared his throat and ran his hand over his large white beard. "Recall how you told us that Voldemort would do anything for a cup of tea?"

Of course I did.

"Well, everyone knows that Madam Puddifoot's serves the best tea in Britain."

I gave an incredulous cough. They only served the best tea… if one could stomach the décor, and judging by the look in his eyes, Albus definitely could. There had to be some reason that he was telling me this, but I couldn't fathom what it was. "I don't see where you're going with this."

"From the information that you've given me, I have reason to infer that Voldemort will visit Madam Puddifoot's."

I cringed, not only at the image, but at the implications. "But, Puddifoot's is in Hogsmeade, and the students routinely visit her establishment." I continued on, "Not to mention the fact that the Dark Lord would never go into such a public area, especially one with so many people that he considers unworthy to be wizards."

Albus nodded as if I were a slow child and had finally understood his point. It was a look I did not appreciate. "So, her nephew, Gerard, will be taking over until we can figure out what exactly Voldemort wants."

"And…why does this concern me?" I was tired of this round about conversation.

It looked like I was about to get my answer. I bristled; I had a bad feeling about the answer, as I knew that look. That was the look that came right before I was ordered to do something foul like chaperoning little brats as they bounded through Hogsmeade.

"You, my boy, are Gerard."

No. Oh gods no.

I tensed, ready to bolt for the door—now I knew why he had sat me so far away—but was stopped by a hard look from Albus. Reluctantly, I stayed put.

The corner of my mouth began to twitch at the thought of being surrounded by so many frilly knickknacks. I hadn't been to Puddifoot's since that ill-fated episode in my fifth year, and had no desire to go back. I could only imagine that Umbridge's office had been a pale shadow of that pink monstrosity, and that had been bad enough. This had to be a nightmare. No, no, no, _no!_ He couldn't make me do that, could he? What about my classes? For that matter, what about my sanity?

It was as if Albus sensed my escape route. "You'll only hold this post on weekends, so you needn't worry about it interfering with your classes."

Damn it! That was the only valid excuse I had. After all, no one cared about my sanity. I observed Albus, and as my eyes darted between his smirking lips and his glittering eyes, I realized there was something he wasn't telling me. "There's more, isn't there?"

Albus clasped his hands together and leaned forward. I tried vainly to not squirm in my chair. Then he said what I dreaded most to hear.

"You'll have to dress the part."

_Argh!!!_ This time, I did manage to bolt through the door, down the stairs, and all the way out the front door. I could hear the portrait of Mrs Black as I ran out the door. "Blood traitors! Filthy swine! Shame of my forefathers!"

The door slammed behind me as I dashed down the stairs and onto the street.

This time, he had asked too much.


	3. Preparing for the Role

A/N: Third verse, same as the first! Please review and breath some life into my work. And, as always, thanks go out to my beta, Nalaniekiela, for inspiring this work.

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**Preparing for the Role**

In the end, that bearded bastard convinced me to play the role he had burdened me with, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

Loathe it was more likely.

Once Albus left, I sat back down in my rickety chair, and blocked the Floo. I needed time to think without further interruptions… or messages that Albus now needed me to play Father Christmas.

Bastard.

I glanced down at the floor of my hearth and sighed. That had been my last good tumbler. Now I'll have to buy more; a _Reparo _only works so many times. I stood and _Reparo'd_ the old glass and, as expected, there some cracks remained. Pity that.

I went back to the kitchen and began putting up the ingredients I pulled out earlier. I'd have to replace the Calming Drought eventually, but not now. I could always nick one from Pomfrey. I smirked at the thought; after all, I was the one who supplied the Hospital Wing.

As I cleaned, I thought about what I would have to do in this new role of mine. On the bright side, I would no longer have to chaperone the Hogsmeade weekends, but I'd still have to spend time with those little brats! A horrific thought crossed my mind - what if they recognised me? More importantly, what if the Dark Lord recognised me? One thing was for certain, I'd no longer have to worry about students…as I'd be _dead._

There was a loud _bang_ as I slammed the cauldron a little too hard on the shelf I stored it on. My last thought had been quite unnerving. I needed to think less about what might happen, and more on what I could do to prevent my untimely demise. That meant I'd actually have to leave here and return to Hogwarts to see Albus.

Again I say, bastard.

oOoOoOo

"Headmaster, did you have a disguise in mind, or do I have to come up with one myself?" I was standing in Albus' office, and had resigned myself to completing this ridiculous farce of a mission.

Dumbledore reached into a drawer on his desk. "Glad to see that you have come around, my boy." He pulled out a disgustingly pink piece of cloth. "As a matter of fact, I do have a disguise planned for you."

He tossed me the pink cloth. "Here's your apron. Your uniform will consist of this, along with a pink shirt and the trousers of your choice, or red robes, if you prefer."

I sneered at my options. A disgustingly pink shirt or Gryffindor red robes? Albus was surely having a laugh over this. I glared at him as I caught the bundle of cloth and unfolded what I now knew to be the apron. Well, at least it was lace-free; thank Merlin for small miracles. "Anything else?" I testily asked.

Reaching into the same desk drawer, Albus retrieved a small velvet pouch that contained a man's ring. He tapped the ring and murmured over it before handing it to me. "This will complete your disguise," he said.

I took the ring and examined it. The ring was plain, solid gold, and felt warm from the magic that had been cast upon it. I glanced up at him with an eyebrow raised in question.

"It's a glamour charm," he explained. "One that will require no effort for you to maintain, so it will be safe for long periods of use."

Great. "What does this disguise look like, Headmaster?"

I should have known better than to expect an answer. "You'll see when you try it out. I suggest donning the ring with several minutes to spare, as it takes a few minutes to work." He then handed me an envelope stuffed with sheets and sheets of parchment. "Here are your instructions from Madam Puddifoot; I suggest you read them thoroughly."

I grumbled as I took the envelope. Normally I would love nothing more than a good read, but I was sure that this would prove itself to be a terrible bore. "Anything else?" I asked, yet again.

Albus smiled and closed the drawer. "That will be all. Your first day will be this Saturday. Enjoy."

oOoOoOo

I made my way down to the Dungeons and snarled at a student that had been foolish enough to not move out of my way. Not willing to face the certain laughter in Albus's eyes, I decided to have supper in my rooms. I was in a terribly foul mood, and couldn't even have a proper drunken sulk; not with it being a Sunday night and classes tomorrow.

Instead, I ate the sandwich that I had ordered from the kitchens and decided to get the reading out of the way. As imagined, it was a dull and tedious process, mainly the repetition of my instruction to be kind and helpful to everyone who came in, and to serve with a—_ugh—_cheery disposition. Then there were my instructions on how to open the shop, what kettle to use with what, how to prepare—

"Great…son of a…Good gods, _that's disgusting!_" I spit out the bite of sandwich that I had just taken, mustard spraying all over the page I was reading. "_That's_ how she makes her tea?" I shuddered and put down my plate; I was no longer hungry.

I was a Potions Master, and could therefore stomach a great number of things, but that…_that_ was beyond the pale.

No longer interested in reading, I picked up the ring that Albus had given me and looked it over. Now that the heat was gone there was nothing to distinguish it at all from a plain, common ring.

I was unsure as to what changes would be made to my appearance, so I stripped down to my trousers and kicked off my boots. I then took my place in front of a mirror, before donning the ring onto the little finger of my right hand.

The change was rather subtle when it began. My skin took on a less anaemic tone and my body began to fill out. I was still thin, but could no longer be labelled bony. My hair, thankfully, lightened to dark brown instead of becoming the Lockheartish blond that I feared. However, it did become much shorter, making me look much like Caesar would have, had he been dark haired.

That wasn't the only thing that changed. My nose straightened out, but still remained just as long. I stepped closer to the mirror; my face was changing, and I wanted to get a better look. I watched as ink black eyes lightened and took on a greyish blue hue, my jaw became squarer, and my eyebrows thickened enough to be noticeably different. Over all, it was just enough of a change that only I could recognise myself. I inspected my face and cursed at the mirror. Damn Albus for being so thorough; now I could no longer claim I'd be recognised.

Bastard.

oOoOoOo

"Wormtail!" Voldemort called out from his mouldering throne. "I have told you repeatedly to stop using these accursed excuses for tea leaves!"

Pettigrew carefully approached his master. "I…I apologise, my lord, but this was the only tin we had—"

"So…GET A NEW ONE!" Voldemort spat, throwing his cup with its still scalding contents onto Pettigrew's back. Pettigrew whimpered but stayed still. He new better than to move when the Dark Lord was angry with him, or a scalding would be the least of his worries.

"Why does it seem that I am surrounded by idiots?" Voldemort asked as he leaned back into his throne. Pettigrew wanted to look around and see who the other people in the room were.

Voldemort saw Pettigrew's eyes dart around the room. "Fool! You're the _only_ other person in this room."

Finally, Voldemort got up and flung Pettigrew out of his way with a flick of his wand. "That's it; I'm leaving. If the Dark Lord can't have the best, then no one can."

Pettigrew stood up and made a move to leave the room. Voldemort turned around and eyed the distasteful rodent. "And where are you going?" he hissed. "Stay here, I'll be back in a few hours." With one last look around, he added with a smirk, "Keep Nagini company."

Pettigrew whimpered when he heard hissing coming up behind him.

oOoOoOo

_DING…DING…DING…_

I woke up the morning of the fourteenth, and nearly cursed my alarm clock into oblivion.

Hold on…fourteenth…_February fourteenth?!!_

"DAMN YOU TO HELL, ALBUS!!!"


	4. Opening Shop

**Opening Shop**

Free for the weekend, the Hogwarts students headed in droves for Hogsmeade. Fortunately (or unfortunately for some), today was Valentine's Day; love was in the air, and Ron felt like he may have well have been playing Quidditch without a broom.

"Harry…" Ron whispered. "I can't do this!"

Harry took one look at his friend and then called ahead to Hermione, "We'll catch up to you in a bit!" At her dubious look, he added, "Left something back at the castle!"

Hermione rolled her eyes but complied, even speeding up her stride to get further away from them. She was certain she knew what was going on with the boys.

Once they had fallen sufficiently behind, Harry looked at Ron. "Alright there?" he asked his friend.

"No mate, not at all." In fact, Ron looked a little green around the gills. "Remember that time we tackled that troll, first year?"

"Yeah…go on."

Ron wiped his face from where he was starting to sweat. "I'm…feeling a bit like that."

Harry shook his head and tried not to laugh at him. "Ron, you've practically been dating Hermione for the past two years…why are you so nervous now? It's just another day on the calendar!"

Ron looked at Harry with horror. "Just another day? _Just another day?!_ It's not just another day! I'll have you know that a witch expects more from her bloke on Valentine's Day than she does any other day of the year." Ron pulled Harry close enough that he could whisper in his ear. "Remember last year?" he hissed.

Oh, Harry remembered last year, he remembered it quite well. The three of them had spent the entire holiday in the Hospital Wing, care of Fred and George. The twins had given their brother some cologne they guaranteed would entice any witch he used it around, and Ron, being desperate as he was, put it on without a second thought. His brothers had conveniently left out the fact that it was still in the 'experimental stages,' so in retrospect, Harry found it no surprise that it had quite the opposite effect.

Ron had come out of the experience scot-free, but Hermione had broken out in hives so badly that Snape had to brew her an extra-strength dose of the allergy salve Pomfrey had given her so that her hives would disappear in time for class the next day.

Needless to say, that was a Valentine's Day to live on in infamy, and one that Ron would never live down amongst their fellow Gryffindors. Harry had not been involved in the incident, but had spent as much time in the wing with Hermione as possible, before Madam Pomfrey had chased him and Ron out.

After that, Hermione hadn't talked with _any _of the Weasley brothers for an entire week.

Harry gave Ron a grim look.

"_Exactly," _Ron responded.

They started walking again. "Now you see why today has to be perfect!" Ron ran a hand through his red hair in agitation.

"Look, if it's any help, I'll walk you to Puddifoot's, but I'm not going in." Harry was adamant on this point. "This is supposed to be _your_ and _Hermione's_ special day, and I don't want to feel like a third wheel."

"Oh come on, Harry; I'm sure she won't mind much…"

"No, Ron."

"Please?"

Harry stopped walking. "Do you think things will go better with or without me there?"

"With?"

"Ron!" Harry couldn't believe Ron had said that.

"What?"

"It's Hermione, Ron. You're just going on a date with your girlfriend. The girl we've been best friends with since first year. I mean, it's not like Snape's going to be in there staring you down."

Ron shook his head before giving in. "Yeah, you're right. I'm just nervous, you know? I want things to go well."

oOoOoOo

Remind me to kill Albus for forcing me into this. It was bad enough that I had to be in Puddifoot's, but to be there on _Valentine's Day?!_ As it was, I had spent nearly an hour deciding whether I should walk to Hogsmeade and then change, or if I should Disapparate away, and then Apparate into town so as not to be seen coming from Hogwarts.

After I had paced repeatedly across my sitting room, I came to the realization that I could Floo as easily as I could walk anywhere…and Albus owed me. I placed all of my things into a black bag, slung it over my shoulder, and walked up to the Headmaster's office. If he wanted me in Hogsmeade, he had to get me there himself.

A few pointed looks and well placed sneers later, I had received free reign to Floo in and out of the castle through Albus' office. While in his office, I changed into my red robes (that Albus had purchased—not I) as I refused to dress in trousers like a Muggle, and donned the ring. As for the apron, I stuffed it into my pocket; even though I was now Gerard Puddifoot, I still had some pride, and refused to walk across the village with that revolting apron tied around my waist.

Once I felt the transformation had ceased, I stepped through the Floo and into the Hog's Head. Aberforth had known to expect someone to come in by Floo, as Albus had spoken to him moments before, but I was confident that he had no idea who I truly was.

With a nod to the bartender, I left the Hog's Head and made for the other end of Hogsmeade. The air felt chillier to my trimmed head, and I raised my hand to habitually push my hair out of my face to find…that it wasn't there. _Brilliant deduction_, I told myself. I walked through the town, a pleasant smile plastered on my face, thoroughly ignoring the students as they ran helter-skelter all over the place, and made a mental catalogue of all that I would have to remember.

First, I effectively had no hair, and should refrain from trying to hide behind it. Secondly, I was to be a 'friendly chap,' and refrain from sneering at the customers. Thirdly, I should avoid fiddling with my ring; as I never wore rings, it felt completely absurd on my finger. Also, I had no idea what the Dark Lord would look like, nor the personality he would employ (though I could only imagine). Furthermore, I should prepare everything per my instructions…even if it made my no-longer-pale skin turn a nauseous green.

Luckily, Madam Puddifoot's did not open shop until 10:30, and as it was only 9:00, I had plenty of time to get there, and situate myself…and perhaps down a few anti-nausea droughts while I was at it.

I entered the shop and everything was worse than I remembered it being. Knickknacks and various bric-a-brac covered every shelf-like surface, with gobs of lace covering everything in the form of curtains and tablecloths. The walls were plastered with patterned wallpaper of pink so dark that it was nearly red, and wait…Were those little hearts imprinted all over the paper? Good gods, they were! Candles also sat on every last one of the round tables in the room, along with a vases containing single rose blooms enspelled to never fade. To top it all, there were even little floating cupids that I was sure were enspelled to scatter rose petals. I looked around for convenient corners to hide in, and tried to scout out the area that the Dark Lord would more than likely sit at.

Ah, this looks like a good choice. There was a round table in the corner by the kitchen, and semi-blocked by the pillars holding up the first floor. The Dark Lord would be able to see anyone approach him before they would see him. I walked around the table, sat down, and decided what would be the best way to monitor him. I smirked and gave a satisfied chuckle when I realised the answer was in my pocket. I pulled out a pair of Extendible Ears that I had confiscated from the Messrs Weasley. Their invention was rather brilliant, though I'd deny it on pain of _Crucio_ if anyone ever asked me.

I unrolled an Extendible Ear and saw how far I could get the string to travel—Ah, yes, right inside the kitchen. I then took my wand and made a cut in the carpet, all the way to the kitchen, and laid the string into the cut. Casting _Reparo_, I repaired the damage to the carpet, and hid all evidence that anything was there.

Re-holstering my wand up my sleeve, I looked over my work. Of course, I wouldn't be in the kitchens the whole time, but if he said anything when I wasn't around, I'd hear it.

Now, onto the torture—it was time to open up shop.

oOoOoOo

Ron gulped nervously as they reached the tea shop. With a wave and a smile, Harry had left him and Hermione all alone as Harry had continued on to his brothers' shop. Fred and George had just bought the old Zonko's location, and had invited Harry to check it out—well, they had invited all of them, but Ron was here on a mission, and one that he wouldn't let his brothers ruin.

Ron opened the door cleared his throat. "Hermione?"

Hermione smiled at him and walked through the open door. Ron followed her in and let out a sigh. That was one thing he had managed to do right; never let it be said that Ron Weasley couldn't be a gentleman.

The custom was for each person to seat themselves, so Ron looked for a table where he could be alone with Hermione. He spotted a suitable table back by the kitchen—he knew it wasn't the most desirable of spots, but they would be alone.

He was very proud of himself when he remembered to pull out Hermione's chair for her. Once they were both seated, he folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward. "So…what should we talk about?"

Hermione leaned forward and held his hand. "Ron, we're going to talk about everything and nothing, just like we always do." She laughed, "What's got you so nervous?"

He mumbled something that Hermione couldn't hear.

"What's that?"

"You." Ron felt himself turning as red as his hair.

"Me?" Hermione asked.

"Yes you. Come on, you're a ruddy perfectionist, and I want today to go perfect for you." Did she really have to make things go so difficult for him?

Hermione shook her head and smiled. "Today doesn't have to go _perfect._ I don't know what gave you the idea that's what I wanted. After all, it's not like it could go any worse than last year."

Ron winced. He knew Hermione's comment had been made completely without malice, but it still hurt him. He had a feeling that that day was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

oOoOoOo

I was back in the kitchen, pulling the last of the blasted scones out of the oven. The little blighters—I mean, customers, were already arriving, and I needed to get out there.

"_So, what should we talk about…"_

I paused as I loaded up the trays, there was someone sitting at the table I bugged…and I had a feeling I knew those voices.

"…_everything and nothing, just like we always do…"_

Damnation…of course I knew those voices! The blasted dream team, or at least part of it, was sitting at my table. I snarled and resisted the urge to slam my fist onto the counter top. There was no way I could rush them from the shop, other than serving them and hoping they finished quickly.

oOoOoOo

Ron looked around for anything to change the way their conversation was headed. "Look Hermione. Madam Puddifoot's not here and a wizard seems to have taken her place today." He guffawed. "Look at that; poor bloke has to wear a pink apron. He looks like a p—"

"Ron, don't you finish that thought," Hermione chided him. "There's nothing wrong with pink on a man. It can be quite masculine when worn the right way."

What—was Hermione looking at other guys? "And I suppose he's wearing it the right way?"

Oh no, that came out completely the wrong way. He really needed to learn to think before he spoke. Luckily, he was saved by the waiter coming to their table and serving their tea. To his ill luck, it seemed that the interruption wouldn't be enough to distract Hermione. She merely appeared to be biding her time until they were alone again.

Hermione narrowed her eyes once the waiter had left to serve another table. "Ron, I can't believe you just accused me of—"

Ron was quick to cut her off before he could make a worse arse of himself. "I'm sorry, Hermione. It's…it's just that I'm so nervous."

Almost as if to illustrate his point, he knocked over his cup, right as he added a spoonful of sugar. The hot liquid spilled over the table, barely missing his lap in its sojourn to the floor.

"Bugger!"

oOoOoOo

"Bugger!" someone yelled.

The clanging of dishes and raised voices alerted me to the disaster happening on the other side of the room. I quickly put down the scones I had been serving. "For the love of…" It _had _to be those blasted Gryffindors.

I strode over, whipped out my wand, and proceeded to Banish the tea Weasley had managed to get all over the table and the floor. I cut of his stuttered apologies with a raised hand, and righted all of the china with another flick of my wand.

I sneered down at the red-headed twerp and proceeded to dock him the points he deserved…and then remembered I couldn't. With a tsk of annoyance, I realigned my face into the proper kindly expression.

"Be careful there, sir." I managed to grit out somewhat pleasantly.

Oh goody, Weasley seems to have been dumbfounded by the address of 'sir.'

"Our fault," Granger interjected as she helped me set the table to rights. "Thank you for cleaning up our mess."

"Not a problem, Miss. Just doing my job." Gag me now.

Granger looked up at me speculatively, and nibbled on her lip the way she always did when she was thinking…or about to raise her hand to ask one of her never-ending questions. I wondered what she could possibly want now.

"You seem to be new here." What an observation. "May I ask your name?"

No.

"Gerard, it is. Gerard Puddifoot—though you may call me Gerard, Miss. I'm taking over for my aunt during the weekends." I added a cordial nod of my head in for good measure. At least it was a good way to get my cover story out, and from a source many would deem credible.

Granger smiled and gestured at Weasley to sit back down. "Could you bring us some more tea…and a couple of those biscuits? They smell delicious."

"But of course, Miss." Too bad I couldn't spike their drinks.

The morning was already long, and the Dark Lord had yet to show his scaly face.

oOoOoOo

A/N: So...like it so far? Hate it? Leave me a review and make my day!


	5. The Dark Lord Cometh

**The Dark Lord Cometh**

A gruff old man with a dirty beard, dark robes, and a nasty disposition stepped out of the Floo system and into the Three Broomsticks. As he dusted off his robes and stomped his feet, he sneered at the jolliness around him.

"Ignorant fools," he muttered, trying hard not to hiss the end of the phrase. Even as the most powerful wizard alive, it would not bode well for him to reveal himself in a place teeming with so much tainted blood.

He dusted off his robes, gave a hacking cough, and watched as an infant began to crawl towards his feet. He snarled at the brat and agitatedly brushed it out of his way with his boot. The mother gave him an appalled look when her baby began to wail.

"Who do ya thin' you are?" she fiercely scolded him as she tried to comfort her child in her arms. "Tha's no way ta treat a babe."

He stopped in front of the witch and brought himself a hairs breadth away from her face. The witch began to shudder and tried not to shy away from his rancid breath. She valiantly held her ground, clutching her child close to her.

He sneered and gave a demeaning glance at her infant. Revelling in the mother's obvious fear of him, he prolonged the painful moment.

"Then control your _young…"_ He hissed the words as if their target was less than human, and therefore not worthy of his notice.

The witch gasped when his eyes flashed red; satisfied, Voldemort made his way out of the pub.

oOoOoOo

Birds twittered, the sun was unusually bright, and no clouds were in the sky as Ginny and Harry made their way through Hogsmeade. They had dropped Hermione and Ron off at Puddifoot's, and were making their way to her brothers' shop to check out their latest inventions.

"What have your brothers come up with this time?" Harry asked Ginny.

She shook her head. "Who knows with those two. Last I heard, they were finishing an elephant version of their Canary Creams."

"Really?" Harry wanted to see those in action…preferably on a certain already big-nosed, greasy-haired git. "You think they'd give me a sample?"

"Of their Toffee Trunks? I'm sure." With a sly grin she added, "Especially for their benefactor…"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know what you're going to say—I shouldn't encourage them, but some of their stuff is just so bloody brill—"

Harry stopped mid-word when he realised how abnormally quiet it had become around them. The two of them stood right in the middle of the road as Harry took in their surroundings. The birds had stopped twittering, no dogs were yelping, and the children that had been playing about them had disappeared from sight.

"Erm…Ginny?"

Ginny shrugged; she had no idea what was going on.

Harry took one last look around, and satisfied that nothing was horribly amiss, began to walk…

_Thwack! _

"Ow! Hey!" the two students called out in pain as a cane came out of nowhere and thumped them a good one.

"Out of my way, vermin!" The owner of said cane was a grizzly old wizard, and one hell-bent on having his way.

"Hey! We're walking here!" Ginny exclaimed indignantly. "You can't just shove people aside and have your way!"

The old man sneered in a way that said 'watch me,' and shoved Harry aside to get past them. Harry hissed when he was shoved out of the way, and clutched at his scar.

"Old coot," Ginny sneered to the retreating figure. She saw Harry with his hands over his scar, and looked at him with concern. "You alright there?"

Harry grimaced and rubbed his scar one last time. "Yeah…I just saw the weirdest thing, though—couldn't possibly be from Voldemort."

Ginny was both intrigued and wary. "But, your scar…What did you see?"

He shook his head and they kept walking towards the Weasley brothers' shop. How was he supposed to tell her that his latest vision had been of little green snakes doing the samba—with pink hearts, no less?

"Nothing."

Ginny looked at him like he was crazy. "Whatever."

oOoOoOo

Voldemort proceeded to make his way through Hogsmeade. He sneered at the students who were quick enough to get out of his way, and swung his cane at those too bloody slow for their own good. He cursed his aged body; it was a form he had borrowed from the former Riddle gardener, and therefore barely tolerable. However, it was a form he knew would not be recognised, as he had killed the nosy Muggle a few years past.

"One day," he muttered to himself, "I'll be rid of those pests…" The last word turned into a hiss when a group of bumbling students nearly knocked him off of his feet. He turned with a snarl and brandished his wand from his cane. The students froze in place and watched him with wide eyes—they knew they had made a mistake in running _this_ old man over.

Using his cane for support, Voldemort stood as tall as his rickety borrowed body could bear, and sneered as his cloak fluttered menacingly around him. Oh, how his hand _itched_ to hex the brats…but he had to refrain.

"Out of my way, scamps. Do they teach you nothing at your school?" The students stood frozen in place, not knowing if they should answer, or cower.

He made the decision for him. "Well? MOVE!"

They didn't need to be told twice. The students stumbled and tripped over themselves to get out of his way, and Voldemort gave an evil laugh. It wasn't his usual sport, but it was amusing all the same.

He finally made his way to Madam Puddifoot's, and stopped when he caught a glimpse of the interior through the opened door. There was pink and lace by the cauldronful, and he grimaced at the entire kitschiness of it all. It was all he could do to not gape in revulsion—after all, gaping isn't very becoming on an evil overlord.

"_This_ is the place? How—_cough—_how utterly revolting."

Speaking of revolting, the Dark Lord realised it was time for another dose of Polyjuice. Taking a swig from his hip flask, Voldemort shuddered and smacked his mouth in distaste. He should have had Snape brew the potion for him rather than Bellatrix—it would have still been vile, but not _this_ god-awful revolting!

As he walked through the door, the entire room immediately fell into a shocked silence, with the students all gaping in his direction. _Oh, _he realised as he looked around. _Must have picked the wrong body. _Judging by the profusion of students (and nearly nothing but), his current form was not that of the regular clientele. _Well, bloody hell._

Of course, the only other choice he had was to become a student—a _Hogwarts_ student. He took another glance at his flask, and his face broke out into an evil grin at the thoughts that that inspired.

If he impersonated a student, he may just be able to bypass the protective charms around the school (he got in with Quirrel, after all) and get into Hogwarts to kill Potter once and for all…right under Dumbledore's nose. Voldemort was certain that if it wasn't for Dumbledore's interference, Potter would not have gotten away during their last encounter.

What a blow that would be to the old wizard! To—_cough—_kill Potter right under his nose and finally end that blasted prophesy.

All Voldemort had to do was pick the right student—preferably a Gryffindor—or better yet, he realised as he looked across the room, one of Potter's little circle.

_Granger…_He noted that the girl was sitting by herself. _Ah, never mind—there's a redhead joining her…Must be Weasley. _His luck was even better, as he now had two delectable choices before him. It all came down to what would be the least suspicious, and so, he chose Granger. After all, who would believe a Mudblood girl would kill her 'saviour?'

Sitting down at an adjacent table, he continued to plot. Voldemort realised it was just a matter of grabbing a few hairs, disposing of the Mudblood's body, and no one would be the wiser. However, if he were to actually make it into the castle, be alone with Potter, and make it believable, he would have to observe and learn.

He realised he had been sitting there a while. Why in Slytherin's name had he not been served yet?

"Waiter!"

oOoOoOo

"Waiter!"

_Oh, who the hell is that?_ My head snapped up (smacking into one of the floating cupids) when I heard someone rudely yelling for me from the other side of the room. If I had my choice, I wouldn't have responded at all, but seeing as that wouldn't exactly be 'in character,' I had to go.

I stalked—scratch that—calmly walked over to the new patron.

"Yes?" With a tsk of annoyance I plastered on a smile and gritted out the rest of the greeting. "What can I get you?"

I paused when I realised that this was not the usual customer. Instead of some pimply student or a part of a pair of twittering lovebirds, this was a greasy old man…one who looked two seconds away from kicking the cauldron.

The old man sneered at me in a way that was uncomfortably familiar, and demanded his order. "Tea. Black," he snarled.

With a short bow, I backed up and went to retrieve the order. Coming out of the kitchen, I place the piping-hot teapot on the table, along with the cup and saucer. Hopefully, I would not have to return to this table.

Something warned me not to keep my back to this particular customer, so under the guise of checking the nearest tables for refills, I subtly inspected him for anything unusual. I noticed his beard was dirty, his robes dark—not that there was anything unusual about that—a hacking cough, and there was a hip flask…_Hip flask?_ Perhaps it just held his favourite liquor, but I knew of several other things that it could contain, as we well knew after the Crouch incident.

I narrowed my eyes and continued on my rounds; I would have to keep a close eye on this one.

oOoOoOo

Ron sat at the table with Hermione, and kept sneaking glances at the old man sitting behind her. He didn't like the weird looks that they kept getting…almost like the old man wanted something from them.

He didn't like it.

After realising that he had been caught staring, he cleared his throat to get Hermione's attention. "Erm…Don't you think something seems off about him, Hermione?"

Hermione put down her cup. "Who seems off?"

Ron raised his eyebrows and used his head to gesture behind her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a quick glance over her shoulder. At the same time, the old man gave a wheezing cough.

Hermione sighed and turned back around. "He's just an old man with a cough, Ron. Ignore him."

He persisted, "But he gives me the creeps, Hermione…"

She merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"Oh, fine." He tapped his fingers on the table for a few moments before starting again. "But, he keeps looking at—"

"_Ronald,"_ Hermione interrupted him. "He probably keeps looking at us, because _you_ keep staring at him like he's a big, hairy spider."

Ron looked abashed at this. "I still think he's—oh fine, I'll drop it."

oOoOoOo

I took another round of the tables and refilled the pots with steaming hot water and refreshed the tea leaves. I still shudder when I think about what my directions called for…but best not think on that at all.

How I itched to dock points from the profusion of students in here. Did they think I couldn't see their sly hand holding, or notice their ankles rubbing under the tables? Did they think themselves clever, sneaking kisses far out of the sight of their teachers?

But that's right—I wasn't a currently a teacher.

I nearly wanted to gag on the sheer amount of hormones obscenely floating in the air—or perhaps it was just the large amount of scented candles. With my poor luck, I won't be able to smell anything but strawberries and roses for hours after I leave.

oOoOoOo

Ron and Hermione continued to sit there, much to Ron's increasing dismay. Hermione finally began to notice the uneasy looks he kept directing behind her, and decided to do something about it. Ron didn't need to suffer because of her.

"Well, I'm done here. Would you like to go for a walk around the lake?"

"Sounds brilliant."

Ron couldn't agree fast enough—he would do anything to get out of there. He felt like he was suffocating from the perfumes in the air, and the old wizard wasn't helping.

oOoOoOo

Now they leave.

Blasted Gryffindors…at least their table was now free for the Dark Lord to occupy when he came in.

I picked up a rag from the kitchen to wipe down their table, and noticed that they had left a tip as well as their tab. I supposed they felt obligated too; after all, if they knew who I really was, they probably would have left nothing.

The extra change really wasn't that much, but I pocketed it with a shrug. It wasn't like I was going to say 'no' to a few extra Sickles—I'm a teacher, for Merlin's sake.

Finishing with that table, I looked around to see what else had to be done. I noticed that the old wizard had left shortly after the Gryffindor pair. I cleaned his table and found that he had left me exactly one Knut.

Bastard.

Adding the single coin to those in my robe pocket, I glanced at the clock and felt the urge to bang my head against the wall.

Only five hours to go.

* * *

**A/N: **Like it? Hate it? Feed a starving writer with a review!


	6. Trouble in Paradise

**Trouble in Paradise**_  
_

_By the Serpent, _my head hurts.

I thought that nothing could be worse than teaching a room full of dunderheads, and I've found that there is—_serving_ a room full of dunderheads is infinitely worse.

They couldn't decide whether they wanted a refill or not, and upon saying 'no,' they would swiftly change their minds the moment I walked away. Believe it or not, the students weren't even the worst of it. Pairs of randy lovebirds would be ogling each other from across the tables, and I'd have to clear my throat repeatedly to get their attention. However, I'd inevitably wish I hadn't, as their only response to the question of what they wanted was, "You go first. No, you. You. You. You. You. You first. I insist, after you. You. You. You…"

_Shut up, already! _

If I hadn't a grey hair before, then I certainly did now.

After everyone had left, I dumped the last of the water, wiped down the tables, turned off the fires, and sighed in relief as I flipped the sign to read, "Closed." After locking the door, I would have sprinted to the Three Broomsticks if it were not for my dignity—or the fact that it felt like a herd of hippogriffs were raging through my skull. As it was, I walked briskly and wished for one of the potions I had foolishly left on my nightstand.

I Floo'd from the Three Broomsticks to the Headmaster's office, and I'd be damned if he didn't greet me with a smile.

"Enjoy your day?" Albus asked me.

Enjoy my day? _Enjoy my day?! _

I'll bloody give him 'enjoy my day.' Without saying a word, I ripped off the putridly pink apron, and threw it at Dumbledore. The apron was swiftly followed by my red robes. He even had the gall to look amused as I pulled my high collared and blessedly black robes out of my bag, shrugged them over my shoulders, and painstakingly buttoned them up. I glared at him and noticed his eyes were focused on me—or more specifically—my shoulder.

I followed the line of his sight and saw bits of pink and red confetti on my shoulder. I angrily swiped the trash off my shoulder and snarled when more fell from my hair to soil my robes. More angry swipes followed as it continued to fall like multicoloured dandruff.

"Son of a kappa!" I cursed. Frustrated, I gave up trying to wipe the confetti off of my shoulder, and went straight for the source.

Both hands scratched at my scalp as I tried to get the bits of abomination out. It seemed like the red and pink sprinkles would never end.

The angrier I became, the more Dumbledore chuckled. I was pretty certain that I would loose all of my hair before the confetti would run out. Right as I willing to shave my head to get rid of the mess, I saw Dumbledore pull out his wand.

I froze, even though I was sure that I hadn't _actually_ said that I'd rather be bald. I feared that Dumbledore was barmy enough to do it.

He flicked his wand and I cringed—_Not my hair! I know it's hideous, but anything but my… _

"There, that better?" I heard him say.

I cringed as I expected to feel my bald scalp, and sighed in relief when I realised my hair was still all there. After an experimental shake, I also realised that the confetti was gone.

Oh, so that was _Evanesco _I heard him say, not _Excorio._Doesn't he know better than to point a wand at me?

Moodily, I sat rather harshly in an armchair in front of Dumbledore's desk. I crossed my arms and grumbled my displeasure.

Dumbledore smiled—the senile old man. "You're welcome. Sherbet lemon?"

I gritted my teeth in frustration and scowled further. I wouldn't even give him the pleasure of my refusal. Yes, I was pouting, but I rather think I deserved to after going through the saccharine hell that is Puddifoot's.

He brushed my petulance aside. "I take it everything went well?"

"I daresay there was no Dark Lord, if that's what you wanted to know." Blast it all, there went my refusal to talk.

"No Voldemort? (I cringed.) Then I suppose you'll have to go back next weekend."

I bristled. "He _wasn't _there," as I knew he wouldn't be. "I suppose you're _other_ intelligence source must have been wrong, because he did not deem to grace me with his glorious presence."

Dumbledore looked at me like he had no idea what 'other source' I was referring to, and it sorely grated on my nerves. I knew he had to have gotten that idea of his from somewhere, probably from someone in the Order who wanted to see me humiliated…

"Well then, my boy, humour an old man and go again next weekend."

"And be attacked by another floating cupid? I think not."

"Ah yes, adorable things…Unfortunately, Madam Puddifoot only decorates with those on Valentine's Day."

Unfortunately? Well, bless Merlin for small mercies. I saw the smile that he gave me, and knew that I didn't even need to respond. I was defeated and he knew that I knew it—I'd have to continue this ridiculous farce. So I did, every single bloody weekend.

The same routine repeated, again and again. I changed into the red robes, put on the pink apron, and put the kettles to boil. I'd sift out the tea leaves by the cup, and deliver on demand. I put up with more public displays of affection than I thought I could possibly stomach, and smiled to the point that I thought my cheeks would lock in place.

Every weekend, like clockwork, Miss Granger would come in with Mr Weasley in tow (this is why I hated the revised rules about seventh year visits), with the old man coming in about thirty minutes behind them. Every time they would order the same blasted things (to the point where I stopped asking and just started bringing the same things out) and spend the same amount of time talking about the same things, at the same blasted table. Every time I went by Miss Granger's table, she would smile at me as I served her, thanking me every time I walked away, and call me by name—well, my pseudonym, at any rate. Every time, I would respond a little more favourably; I told myself that it was because it amused me for her to think she was developing a new friendship, though the truth may have been simply that I was going mad. Every time I walked by the old man's table, he would take a sip from his flask, and then snarl at me and try to trip me; I'd never fall for the trick as too many students have already tried...to their own detriment. Every weekend—as expected—the Dark Lord never arrived.

And every weekend I watched with amusement as Weasley became more and more—ah, _uncomfortable_. I knew it was only so long before he reached the breaking point…

oOoOoOo

Ron didn't like this. He didn't like coming to Puddifoot's, and he especially didn't like the way that their waiter seemed to cosy up to his girlfriend. Hermione couldn't help that she was a nice person, but she could have turned the smiles down a little. Besides, where did Gerry…Gerald…Gerard—whatever his name is—get off on monopolizing his girl's attention?

He couldn't help that when Hermione had asked him about the qualities of hippogriff hoof versus white hart antler in producing effervescence in a Debilitating Draught, he had simply blinked dumbly. How the flip was he supposed to know? Effer…what? She was the walking encyclopaedia, not him; he hadn't even been in Potions for the past two years. Of course, their _waiter_ knew the answer, and had happily blathered out his opinion. This had predictably resulted in a rather lengthy discussion that Ron had had no part in, and had to watch with more than a hint of jealousy. That hadn't been the first time either, and it rankled on Ron's last nerve.

oOoOoOo

I walked away from the Gryffindors' table, feeling oddly pleased at myself. It had been a rather interesting diversion to discuss something requiring more than two brain cells to rub together.

Judging by the look on Weasley's face, he had no idea what Miss Granger and I had been discussing…and I do not pretend to understand why she was discussing the current N.E.W.T. Potions assignment with him anyway. I certainly could (and did) give her far more than the stuttered, "Erm…" that Weasley was famous for, even though it was supposed to be a solo assignment…

My eyes widened.

_That cheating, little cheat!_

oOoOoOo

Once Gerard had left, Ron leaned over and tried to get Hermione's attention, as she was furiously taking notes in her Muggle notebook. "Friendly chap—isn't he, Hermione?"

That jab didn't elicit a response, so he tried again. "Hermione."

"What?" She paused writing just long enough to see what he wanted.

Ron, at the exact same moment, had the ill luck to lock eyes with the old man who always sat across from them. He paled; it was almost as if he could sense the geezer licking his chops in their direction. Disconcerted, Ron responded, "Nothing."

Hermione rolled her eyes as if to say 'Then why bother me? I'm doing research.' and returned to her furious note taking and theorem making.

A few minutes later, Ron tried to get her attention again. Hermione sighed and tossed down her quill.

She looked up. "Now you made me forget what I was writing."

"Why don't you ask _Gerard _to help you remember," he sneered.

Hermione shut her notebook. "What do you have against him, Ron?"

"What do you have with talking to guys that aren't your bloke?" he countered.

He saw Hermione's eyes flash before narrowing with menace, and promptly realised that he had made a mountain out of a molehill, and would swiftly pay when it all rolled down hill in his direction.

"Are you jealous?" she asked. "Perhaps if you _tried_ at your schoolwork instead of copying off of me, then _maybe_ you would have still been in Potions with Harry and I, and had a chance of being an Auror when you finished with school. I, on the other hand, plan on getting this paper done, and if I find a credible source, then I'm going to take it."

Ron didn't copy _everything_ off of her, and he was insulted and angered by her insinuation that he did. Just because he couldn't complete his first career goal didn't mean that he was an altogether failure. Did she really know that little about him? "How do you know we'll even finish?" he countered. Stealing is nerves, he added, "What if V—Voldemort manages to destroy the school before you even get to take your precious N.E.W.T.s?"

Hermione was aghast. "How could you even think that?" she hissed. "The end of term is only a few months away, and you're already thinking the worst? Do you have that little faith in Harry, the Order...or yourself for that matter? Do you really think that _anyone_ will let the end happen that way?"

She stood from the table and stuffed her things into her bag before Ron could even digest the disastrous end of their conversation.

Ron stood as well. "Hermione, wait! That's not what I meant..."

She stopped him with a raised hand. He could see that he had made her cry, and his heart wrenched at the sight. "Just stop...stop it, Ronald. I need to be alone."

Ron wilted and sat back down in disbelief as Hermione left the tea shop.

oOoOoOo

Voldemort saw his chance to get the Granger girl by herself. He had overheard their conversation and was flattered that they didn't even question his ability to destroy Hogwarts.

_Perhaps,_ he thought. _I may just raze every last stone to the ground…during N.E.W.T.s._

However, first things first. He knew that it would be best to acquire more information about the girl's behaviour, so grabbing a bit of her hair would do for now.

Voldemort rose from his chair, paid the minimum tab and followed Granger swiftly out the door.

oOoOoOo

I couldn't repress the snigger that I had been holding back after seeing Miss Granger depart as she did. Of course, I could have strangled the pair for mentioning the Order so publicly, but at least—even in the heat of their combined Gryffindor tempers—they had the common sense not to mention any names.

Strangely enough, at the vociferous mention of Volde...the Dark Lord's name, everyone in the establishment flinched...except for one. The old man who had taken to watching the Gryffindors (perhaps to live vicariously through their drama) had...well, grinned.

A vile grin it was too, and strangely familiar. To further arouse my curiosity, the old man had left immediately after Miss Granger had. His usual routine was to stay until nearly closing every weekend and leave shortly after Miss Granger and Mr Weasley. Couple that with his Moody-like and hourly use of a hip flask, and...

I blinked as my normally astute mind worked this information over, and could have kicked myself for not seeing it sooner. The Dark Lord had been here the entire time.

The Polyjuiced old man was Voldemort!

My jaw dropped and I felt my grip begin to slacken; I returned to the kitchen to deposit the teapot I was carrying before I could drop it.

Once safely out of sight of the customers, I let my guard drop as I realised how near death I had been this entire time. I gasped and pulled in a shuddered breath. _Great gods—_what if the glamour had failed? What if some integral part of my character had leaked through? What if I had been recognised? I cursed Dumbledore silently has I realised the danger he had put me in. It is one thing to face the Dark Lord, fully cognizant of his identity and whereabouts...and another to gallivant blindly around him!

Dear gods! I needed to pull myself together. I went to the sink and splashed my face with ice cold water, and resisted the urge to slap myself. Now was not the time to give into hysterics (as if I ever did). As long as I kept my Occlumency strong, and that blasted smile plastered on at full volume, then I would be fine. Perhaps I would even make it until classes to give that slip of a girl, Granger, what was coming to her.

There was only one question—what did I do now?

oOoOoOo

Hermione left Madam Puddifoot's and adjusted her school robes. She was trying hard not to cry, but there was only so much a witch could do. She took to surreptitiously wiping away her tears with the back of her sleeve, pretending that she was rubbing her face.

As she pulled her hand away, she noticed wet spatters being made in the dust.

_Great,_ she thought. _At least I won't have to hide my tears now—I can pretend it's just the rain._

Suddenly, the pattering drizzle became heavier as the clouds opened up and the rain began to fall in earnest.

Hermione cursed her luck. She still had the walk back to Hogwarts, but it was raining cats and dogs. Hitching up her bag on her back, she began walking through the rain and didn't even bother to protect the papers inside. Her papers were now soaked, as her bag was only thin cotton, so it didn't even matter that she had had that conversation with Gerard, as none of the work would remain. _I hope you're happy, Ronald._

"Bollocks!" she heard a raspy voice call out behind her, followed by a wooden thud and a grunt.

Hermione turned around and saw that the old man from Puddifoot's had fallen down the slippery steps. She took a step forward to go help him up, but stopped when a passing wizard took care of the deed for her.

"Watch it there, sir," the younger wizard in blue said. "It's raining heavier now; perhaps you should wait for it to clear up."

The wizard took a look in her direction. "The same should go for you as well, miss. You'll catch your death in this weather."

"I've got to get back to the school," Hermione called out.

The old wizard had finally managed to throw off the other's help with a snarl and an aimed wand. Surprised, the younger man raised his hands in apology for doing a good deed, and went into the tea shop.

Hermione began to turn when she caught the old wizard's eyes. She could have sworn that they had flashed red. Cold fingers of dread pierced her through.

She turned and ran for Hogwarts.

* * *

AN: Enjoy it? Please review! As always, thanks go out to my beta, Nalaniekiela. 


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